<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Sir Roland stood by the stables, arms crossed and armor gleaming in the dying light. His brow furrowed as Thunder skidded to a halt, sending dust swirling through the air. "You're late, boy," he grumbled, stepping forward. "Squires don't ride in like stormclouds and expect courtesy. Name?" Frederick swallowed hard, dismounting with stiff limbs. "Frederick, sir. I meant no disrespect." Sir Roland's eyes narrowed, inspecting him from boot to brow. "Good. Respect is earned here, not given. Unpack your gear and report to the armory at dawn. We'll see if you've the mettle for this life." The knight turned sharply, his cloak snapping behind him like a banner of judgment. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Fatherly Greeting" data-color="green"> As Frederick dismounted, a broad smile broke across Sir Roland's weathered face. "Ah! At last—you must be young Frederick!" He stepped forward, clapping a gauntleted hand on the boy's shoulder. "I knew your father, lad. Brave man. It's an honor to train his son." The warmth in his voice eased the knot in Frederick's chest. "The stables are just there—lead Thunder in, and one of the grooms will see to him. Then come find me by the hearth. I've a pot of stew on the fire, and stories you'll want to hear—tales of dragons, long before they vanished from these lands." Frederick nodded, heart lifting. Perhaps this new life wouldn't be so daunting after all. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Test of Worth" data-color="blue"> Before Frederick could even unbuckle Thunder's reins, a figure stepped from the shadows of the stable doorway—tall, silent, with eyes like flint. "Draw your blade," Sir Roland commanded, his voice low but firm. Frederick froze. "S-sir?" "You heard me, squire. A knight must be ready at all moments. Draw!" Trembling, Frederick unsheathed his practice sword. In a flash, Sir Roland was upon him, a wooden staff in hand. He struck—swift, precise. Frederick barely blocked in time, staggering back. "Good reflexes," the knight mused. "But slow mind. Why did I attack? Answer me!" Frederick panted, thinking hard. "Because... a true knight is never caught unprepared?" Sir Roland gave a single nod. "See that you remember that. Welcome to the keep." </nc-section>